


Finding God

by NinjaFairy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Dubious Morality, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder, Religion, Religious Conflict, Therapist/Patient, Violence, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 11:44:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15436332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaFairy/pseuds/NinjaFairy
Summary: Hermione was startled when a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle walked into her office one day. She hadn't been expecting him to."Do you believe in God, Ms. Granger?"





	Finding God

**A/N:**  I do not give trigger warnings. There will be content in this story that may make you uncomfortable. The two things I will absolutely  **never write**  are graphic rape scenes or pedophilia, but everything else is fair game. You've been warned.

 **Note:**  This is for a writing prompt I got on Tumblr that turned into something slightly bigger. (Tomione therapist/patient trope.) This will be told in 2-3 parts. This story will probably be the darkest thing I've written so far (imo), so  _please_  tread carefully.

* * *

 

**Finding God**

* * *

When she first announced to her friends that she was changing her major in the middle of the fall semester to become a therapist, they'd laughed at her.

"Why is that funny?" she asked, offense clearly written on her features.

"Well, I don't know how to put this delicately, Hermione, but you're not exactly the most empathetic person we know," Harry answered, while smiling into the rim of his bottle of cheap craft beer.

"I'm empathetic!" she argued.

"When Neville's dog got hit by that car last month, the first thing you asked him was if he had it leashed properly," Ginny added carefully.

Hermione's mouth fell open as she tried to find the right words. "I…well, it was a perfectly reasonable question to ask. I don't see how that has anything to do with –"

"And when Cormac broke up with Lavender, you told her – oh, what was it again? That's right! You told her that Cormac was a chauvinistic pig who didn't know his ass from his elbow," Ron added.

"Oh, come off it!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration. "Where was I wrong? Tell me where I was wrong."

"Well, it probably wasn't the best time to say it while she was getting fitted for her wedding gown," Ginny answered hesitantly.

Hermione crossed her arms defensively, and slouched in her seat. "I still stand by what I said. I mean, who sends their fiancée a  _text message_ to break up? A  _month_  before their wedding?"

"We're just saying, Hermione, that you aren't the most tactful when it comes to others' emotions, and being a therapist…well, it requires a certain finesse that you just don't possess," Harry stated bluntly.

"Well,  _I_  think that being rational and logical where emotions are involved can be rather useful. It means that I can help people look past what they are feeling – reach deeper – and pull out what the real problem is at hand, and help them overcome it. Sometimes people with deep-rooted emotional trauma and issues need help from people like me – someone who is blunt, and can look past all the feelings to find the cause."

A slow smile spread over Harry's face and he replied, "Don't get me wrong, you're  _amazing_  at so many things, and this will probably just be another one of them. It's just…I dunno. I can't quite  _see_  it yet, but…if it's what you truly want to do, then…we'll support you."

"What?" Ron asked, a bit slow on the uptake from all the alcohol in his bloodstream.

Ginny elbowed her brother in the ribs, then grinned at Hermione. "Yeah, what Harry said, 'Mione. If you feel like this is your calling, then I say go for it! We'll support you the entire way."

A small smile formed on her lips and she replied, "Thanks, guys."

* * *

A year later, one of Hermione's professors found her the perfect internship opportunity, even though the reasons were far from perfect. It was at a private Catholic school called Hogwarts that was run by a local church, and some of the students at the school were having some…issues.

There had been some bullying incidents recently, and since the media always loved to jump on school bullying stories like flies on horseshit, the headmaster decided it would be a good idea to placate the parents by bringing in a professional to talk to their children.

So, the school got a free student therapist for a few months, while Hermione got free, real-world experience before graduation. It was a win-win situation, in her book. They'd even given her a temporary office to use. It was dusty, dim, and smelled strongly of must and mothballs, but she reminded herself that this kind of opportunity wouldn't present itself again.

Hermione spent the Sunday before her first day getting the office space ready. She didn't have much to fill it with, but she tried making it as comfortable as possible. Comfort made people open up better, after all.

"It'll be a big day tomorrow," she said to herself, a small smile on her lips.

* * *

Hermione's first day, however, hadn't gone how she'd been expecting at all. What she'd been expecting was weepy, angsty teenage girls coming in with their emotional baggage, using up her entire box of knock-off brand tissues.

Instead, her first day was filled with the tense calm of the tick, tick, ticking of the clock on the wall; of her waiting for someone –  _anyone_  – to open her door. The first half of the day, she'd wondered if maybe the headmaster hadn't let the students know she was available to talk, but when she'd asked Dumbledore, he'd told her that the students were told that morning. He'd also said something about teenagers not being so quick to open up to strangers, which made sense. She'd have to find some way to incorporate herself, so they would be more comfortable with her.

So, she made her way back to her dim, musty office to just sit and wait. As she was walking through the empty halls, one of the period bells rung, and a swarm of students wearing navy blazers, grey slacks, and knee-length plaid skirts started bustling around her.

Hermione stood there, frozen, like a deer in headlights. After the initial shock wore off, she did her best to make eye-contact and smile at passing students, but she was sure it was just coming off as awkward – mostly because of the weird looks some of the students were giving her before hurrying off to their next class.

"Hello, there. Are you lost?" someone asked behind her.

She whirled around to find a tall, handsome boy, with sandy hair and a cheerful face smiling down at her.

"O-oh, no. I'm not lost. Thank you, though," she replied politely.

His eyebrows twitched briefly and his smile widened. "Are you sure? You look rather lost to me. Are you a sub?"

Hermione felt her face heat up in embarrassment. She'd be lying if she said she didn't feel a bit out of her element right now, but did she really look  _that_ misplaced?

"Oh! No, no. I'm not a substitute. I'm a student counselor from the university in town," she answered.

Recognition lit up his face. "Oh, that's right. They sent out a newsletter last week and old Dumbles announced it on the intercom this morning. I think it's a great idea, what you're doing."

Hermione smiled tentatively. "You do?"

"Yeah. Sometimes, people just need someone to talk to, you know? Someone who won't judge them. I'm Cedric Diggory, by the way," he replied enthusiastically, offering her his hand to shake.

She accepted it with a huge smile. "It's such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Diggory. I'm Ms. Granger."

"Nice to meet you, too. Anyway, I'd better head to class. See you, Ms. Granger," he said, and started walking away.

"Make sure to tell all your friends that they can feel free to come see me anytime!" Hermione clumsily called after him, and even  _she_  internally cringed at herself.

But Cedric only smiled politely and nodded before hurrying off to class.

Hermione deflated once the halls were empty again, and headed back to her quiet office.

* * *

It was her third day there and it had pretty much gone the same as the first two: no one came to see her, the few students she  _did_  see in the halls gave her odd looks, and she ate her cold turkey sandwich alone in her office in silence.

Part of her was wondering if she should try to socialize with the students in some way, but she wasn't sure if that was entirely appropriate. Plus, the mere thought of socializing with  _teenagers_  gave her heart palpitations.

But, on her fourth day there, she'd overslept and forgotten to pack herself a lunch. That meant she had to choose between going hungry or going to the school cafeteria. She ignored her growling stomach for thirty minutes before deciding to just suck it up and go.

She'd been expecting the halls to be empty, since the lunch period had started nearly twenty minutes ago, but was shocked when she heard a loud, metallic thud echo through the hallway. She hurried around the corner to find one boy pinning another up against the lockers by his neck.

"If I have to repeat myself to you  _one more time_ , Malfoy, I'll –" the taller boy threatened, his lip curling with a vicious sneer.

"I'm sorry, Tom! I swear, it'll never happen again," the other boy cowered, fear evident in his eyes.

"What in the  _world_  is going on here?" Hermione shouted, her hands resting on her hips.

The boys separated swiftly, their faces dropping back to that of innocent school boys. Well, maybe not the shorter, blonde one; his eyes still held a trace of fear. But the taller, dark-haired one…

"Nothing, ma'am," said the boy named Tom respectfully, which was a complete one-eighty of how he was just a moment ago. "It was just a misunderstanding, is all."

"Unlikely," she scoffed. "You just had your hand around his neck. I'm not blind."

"No, really. It's alright –" the blonde boy started, but Hermione interrupted him.

"What're your names?" she asked them.

"Tom Riddle, ma'am."

"A-Abraxas Malfoy, ma'am," the blonde one stuttered. "Please, don't tell the headmaster. It really was just a misunderstanding."

Hermione's eyes narrowed at the boys as she thought about how she  _should_  tell Dumbledore, but then she realized that if she did, then she'd be known amongst the students as a tattletale and  _no one_  would ever come to talk to her then.

After thinking silently for a few seconds, she came up with an idea. It was probably rather…unconvential, maybe even a little immoral, but she told herself that it was for a good cause.

"I won't tell Dumbledore," she started slowly and Abraxas visibly relaxed.

"Thank you, ma–"

" _If_ ," she interrupted and he went rigid again. "You both agree to come see me at least thirty minutes a week, during one of your free periods."

"What? Why in the world would we do that?" the blonde boy asked, confused. "Wait…you're that psychiatrist or whatever that the headmaster hired, right?"

"Student therapist," she corrected. "And yes. I'm Ms. Granger."

"Are you…blackmailing us, Ms. Granger?" Tom asked calmly – quietly, his dark gaze intensely focused on her now.

Hermione eyes shifted back to Tom's and she carefully replied, "I prefer the term 'constructive coercion'."

She swore she saw the corner of his lips twitch at her statement.

Abraxas went to open his mouth in disagreement, but Tom beat him to it.

"We'll be there."

Hermione noticed the way his charcoal eyes sized her up before turning around to leave and she wasn't sure  _why_ , but it felt like she'd just made a disastrous mistake.

* * *

Hermione was startled when Tom showed up in her office the very next day. She hadn't been expecting him to actually follow through with it.

"Do you believe in God, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione was taken by surprise by his abrupt question. They were only ten minutes into the session and she wasn't sure how to answer such a personal question asked by a student attending a Catholic school.

"I…do not, no," she answered honestly, concerned that she might offend him in some way.

"Why not?" he asked curiously.

"Probably because I didn't grow up in a religious household, I suppose," she answered good-naturedly, but then she turned it around on him. "Do  _you_  believe in God, Tom?"

"I have to. I don't have a choice."

Hermione made note of the resentment in his tone, then observed, "You struggle with your beliefs."

Tom's eyebrows lowered into a dark scowl, his tone bitter as he said, "I  _have_  to believe, or else I won't be saved."

Her heart raced with excitement. This boy obviously had some underlying negative emotions related to religion. It could be an explanation for his apparent anger issues. Perhaps he'd had a bad experience growing up?

"And do you want to be saved? By God?" she asked, hurriedly scribbling notes down in her notebook.

"No," he stated coldly and it made her eyes dart up to his from her sentence. He stared directly into her eyes, into her  _soul_ , and said with a small smile, "I want to  _find_  Him."

She froze at his words, wondering if he meant them the way that she thought. "Finding God? You mean like a spiritual journey, right? Is that what you meant, Tom?"

"Sure, Ms. Granger," he replied, looking mildly amused. "That's exactly what I meant."

"Alright, well…" she started, shifting uncomfortably. The topic of religion was one she wasn't familiar with. "How do you think you should start this spiritual journey of yours? What should your first steps be?"

Tom sighed deeply and his eyes traveled around her office leisurely while he considered her questions. "That's the problem, you see? I'm not entirely sure. I've thought about it a lot and everything I've come up with doesn't seem… _right_."

Hermione leaned forward in her chair, trying to reel back her eagerness. "Maybe I can help you."

His eyes landed back on hers and he tilted his head to the side curiously. "How?"

"Well…I'm not well-versed in this, so forgive me if I'm wrong, but isn't one of the first steps you're supposed to take is to admit that you're a sinner?"

"Yes. You're correct," he replied quietly, his eyes narrowed in thought.

"Maybe once you accept the fact that you're a sinner, then you can move forward onto the next step?" she offered.

He licked his chapped lips and repeated slowly to himself, "Accept the fact that I am a sinner…"

Tom's dark eyes were trained on hers, but it was as if he was looking right through her. Hermione stared back, unsure of why he was looking at her like that. It made her shift uncomfortably in her chair again.

"Yes. Would you want to talk about that, too?" she offered.

His eyes focused on her again and his abrupt smile disarmed her – it was the first time he'd smiled at all and she wasn't ready for it. It didn't sit quite right on his face.

"No, thank you, Ms. Granger," he replied, getting up from his seat. "You've helped me  _immensely_."

"Oh, Tom, you've still got ten minutes left –" she started, but he was already gone.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, and shook her head. Twenty minutes was better than none, and she had a feeling she was going to learn a lot from that boy. From first impressions, he seemed smart, but he also seemed to suffer from some sort of emotional trauma. She was sure she'd dig it up at some point.

* * *

The next day, Hermione made her usual stop to the bathroom that morning before going to her office. When she opened the door, she noticed that the automatic lights didn't turn on, so she felt for the button on the wall. She found it, flicked it on, then screamed.

There, hanging in front of her from the pipes, was the slowly rotating body of a young girl. A desk chair was knocked on its side underneath her and her broken glasses were lying nearby on the floor.

Hermione was in a stupor when other students showed up and there was more screaming. She felt hands on her shoulders, ushering her from the scene. But it hadn't mattered that she'd been removed from it, because she could still see the whites of her eyes, could still see her body spinning, spinning,  _spinning_ …

"It's alright, Ms. Granger," Tom stated softly. "She's in a better place now. She's found God."

Her eyes focused on the pair of charcoal eyes in front of her, but she couldn't find any words to speak. All he did was give her a small smile, then walked away. She was horrified.

Classes had been cancelled for the day. Blue and red lights flashed around the entire building. Yellow tape was hung around the second-floor girls' bathroom. Police officers asked questions she didn't have the answers to.

"Did she come to you at all this week? Did she seem upset over anything?" Dumbledore asked, concern evident in his blue eyes.

Hermione shook her head.

"No. I'd never spoken to her before. If I had known…" she choked on her words, her emotions running high. She'd never known the girl in the short week she'd been there. She'd wished she'd known her, because then maybe…maybe she wouldn't've…

"Do not blame yourself for this, Ms. Granger. You've only been here for a few days. There was no way you could have known or prevented this," he told her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Hermione nodded, her head cast solemnly to the floor as she walked past the room where she knew the body of a fourteen-year-old Myrtle Warren still hung by her neck from the pipes.

She wanted to leave early that day, drown herself in alcohol to cope, but she knew she had to pull herself together. Many of the students were upset over the incident; and, for the first time that entire week, her office was busy.

* * *

On Wednesday the next week, Tom stopped by again.

"So, how are you doing with working on that first step, Tom? Have you found God yet?" she asked tiredly, stacking old notes on her desk before sliding them in a drawer.

She'd been incredibly busy the last few school days, listening to the weeping girls, doing her best to keep her mouth shut and not make them even more upset, going home and drinking away the memory of a makeshift noose.

Hermione had to admit that she liked Tom coming to see her, because she felt like she didn't have to tip-toe around his feelings – he was a distraction. And, not once, did he mention the girl's suicide. He could probably tell it upset her and she was thankful for that.

Tom was pinching and pulling at his bottom lip absently between his fingers, but he paused at her question. His eyes lifted to hers from the Bible sitting in his lap and he replied with a contented smile, "I haven't found Him yet, but I think I'm getting closer."

* * *

"I've been thinking a lot, lately," Tom started conversationally one day. He'd been visiting more than the agreed thirty minutes a week now, but she hadn't complained. (Honestly, now that she thought about it, Abraxas hadn't shown up once, the little twit.) Hermione quickly learned that Tom was a bright, sixteen-year-old boy, and he was starting to become more comfortable with her every time he visited.

She'd learned a lot about him the past few weeks. He was an orphan, a ward of the church that ran Hogwarts, and had the best grades in the entire school. In all honesty, all signs about Tom pointed to him being a model student, but Hermione knew there was more to him than that. What it was, she wasn't sure of yet, but she was slowly peeling back his layers. Tom had unintentionally turned into her own personal project.

"About what?" she asked.

"About the steps I should take. I'm having some trouble trying to decide what I should do next."

Hermione took a deep breath, and hummed to herself. "You mean on finding God?"

He nodded, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

She licked her dry lips and asked, "Well, let's start off with this: how have you been feeling about it, lately?"

Hermione noticed how his eyes darted to her lips for the briefest of moments before flicking back up to her eyes. She ignored the rush of blood pulsing in her ears.

"Frustrated, mostly," he replied offhandedly, slanting his head to the side.

"Why is that?"

"I've been told over and over again that finding God is as simple as opening my eyes to the beauty of the world around me, but the problem I've kept running into for the longest time is that I've never really found the world to be that pretty," Tom stated indifferently.

"Maybe you're not opening your eyes wide enough, Tom," she offered optimistically.

"No. I think my problem is that I've always kept my eyes  _too_  open," he replied.

" _Too_  open?"

Tom smiled proudly. "Yes, because I can see the world for what it  _truly_  is – ugly."

She laughed. "Ugly? That's awfully cynical, don't you think?"

"Perhaps you're right. I'm sure I can think of at least one place in this world where I can find one of God's miracles," he replied, his eyes lingering on her lips again.

Hermione stopped laughing.

Tom leaned forward in his chair suddenly and asked, "Do you believe in miracles, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione didn't know what to do in this situation – didn't know what to say. Tom was no ordinary teenage boy; he was too smart for his own good, too handsome and charming for his own good, too  _bored_  for his own good, and she was beginning to think that he only came here every day just to alleviate that boredom.

She shook her head, and quietly answered, "No. I do not."

"I think I can make you a believer," he said with a mischievous smile.

Hermione frowned, feeling as if this entire conversation was turning into something very inappropriate, but couldn't stop herself from asking, "A believer of what? Of miracles?"

Tom's eyes found hers again and he whispered, "Of God."

Hermione went to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry.


End file.
